Puppeteer
by BakerStreetMarauder
Summary: 'They say you should never mix business and pleasure, but boy were they misinformed.' Ficlet/Post Reichenbach. Sebastian is still furious after Jim's 'death' and refuses to work for him again, however, Jim is insistent and refuses to concede. This quarrel between two hot-headed egotists soon evolves into something more.


I pull the strings around here and you _will _do what is asked of you. Understood Moran? -JM

Go to hell, you pretentious, Irish prick. -SM

I want nothing more to do with your crazy ass. -SM

Primarily, I'm not pretentious, just sit on a higher scale of intelligence and personal pride than most. Secondly, you want nothing more to do with my crazy ass, but you did not object to sharing a bed with me last night? Bravo on the hypocrisy front, Seb. Although, bravo on last night. You were superb. -JM

Also, I carved my initials into your shoulder whilst you were sleeping. They looked good and you didn't even flinch, so I had the time to make them quite intricate. -JM

You- You're a fucking psycho. What in the right mind has to snap in your brain in order for you to think it's okay to basically brand someone as yours? Have you gone completely insane?! -SM

In fact, don't answer that, because it's obvious you have. -SM

Now now my little tiger, calm yourself. You know I haven't got time for this and you don't want to make me angry. Right? -JM

At this point, Sebastian threw his phone down on the bed and stormed into the bathroom, a chain of words so filthy leaving his mouth that Jim had no choice, but to intervene. "You know, you're so intelligent. I can't understand why you even swear. It's heartbreaking in truth, Moran." His sing-song Irish lilt pattered off the tiles, unchanging, even when Sebastian's weight was against him, a knife to his throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't jus-" Jim had shifted forward, the knife digging into his throat barely but enough to make blood trickle down his beloved West-wood suit. His lips were now locked with Moran's own and for this reason, it didn't bother him as much. At least blood could be washed out.

Sebastian was in complete surrender to this small, Irish psychopath and damn he enjoyed it. A man crazy as sin who could fuck like a god and reminded Sebastian he looked like one on a daily basis.

Jim tussled Seb's blonde mass of hair, grinning wide before nuzzling into his neck, whispering to him sensually, "Seriously though Sebastian, my love. Please don't swear, it's unbecoming." This seemed to elicit a groan of mild arousal from Moran who was now leaning against the sofa, cherishing the gentle modulation of Jim's voice from boss to lover. Superior to equal. As he knew what would ensue from this event. The inevitability of them having rough, passionate love just lingered there in Seb's mind, subsequently giving him a hard-on only to be matched by the one Jim seemed to spring himself. These men just found the sexual frustration palpable, but for Jim it carried more poignancy, he was surrendering to power and allowed himself to fall subject to being dominated. The only time he let it happen and it was when he was underneath is Tiger, being fucked into a senseless, babbling wreck.

As Jim unbuttoned Moran's now bloodied shirt, he breathed and stood in awe as muscles rippled beneath his tender hands which began to wander lower and lower, tugging off the layers of clothing between them both. Slowly the ebony haired criminal sank to his knees, trailing down the milk-white flesh of his associate's stomach, feeling the jolts of heat follow his sweet kisses. He then wrapped his lips around the hard, heavenly length before him and closed his eyes.

* * *

Now, to Jim, Sebastian's endurance was beyond realistic. The more the sniper fucked Jim, the more tantalizing positions they tried, it was like the both of them were unable to do or think about anything else. The blonde was infatuated with his superior; he cherished every sated moan and quiver of spent muscles underneath him, worshiping the man he had elicited these carnal responses from. It seemed Jim's dominant working facade was broken in bed; Sebastian finally witnessed the 'Irish prick' go to pieces before his very eyes, a commotion of slurred curses, moans and fluctuant breathing, but the expression that lit up Moriarty's face was more satisfying than the sex itself.. Jim's pupils were blown and heavy, looking directly into Sebastian's eyes. This. This was what made Moran lose it.

Seb bucked his hips swiftly and felt himself become light-headed from the sheer pressure at which he came, before collapsing in a heap on the bed, gasping in a ditch attempt to catch his breath as he gazed up at the mirror on the ceiling. The dark haired man beside the him shifting to curl against his sweat sheened torso.


End file.
